The Alpha and Omega
by Lawrence E Wilcox
Summary: Draco and Ron are fighting for the same woman, fighting for her love and life. But Draco's up to something...something dark.
1. Sex and Wands

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I would not be writing this. In fact, I wouldn't be writing at all. I'd be taking a nap on my private island.

The Alpha and Omega

Chapter One: Sex and Wands

_There are those who would consider this rape._ That thought fluttered through the mind of the blonde haired boy… man… he still wasn't sure what to call himself. He'd been a servant of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named for a time, and he was a servant to his father, a slave to his father's will. But, now his father was in Azkaban, and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was dead and gone. (Good riddance.) So, what was he? A boy? Or a man?

The woman in front of him, bound and gagged might have an opinion. She was filled with his length as he rocked back and forth. She quivered around him, jerking in those little ways that whispered of the coming orgasm. Had she not been gagged, she might well have been begging for release. Still the boy kept up his relentless motions.

"You dirty little bitch," Draco said. "Mrs. Hermione Weasley sneaking around her husbands back to have a _little fun_. If you were my wife… I'd kill you."

Draco moved his hand, took hold of a wad of Hermione's mousey brown hair and twisted. She gasped as her hair pulled taught against her scalp, and Draco yanked, forcing her back to arch, forcing her to come ever closer as he moved inside of her, faster and faster, and faster.

The twitching, the pulsations increased around his hardened member. He could feel his own orgasm rising inside him, but he wasn't ready. He pushed it back down.

"Did I give you permission to come?" Draco whispered into Hermione's ear. Her eyelids were at half mast, and her pupils were dilated as far as they could go. She moaned under the gag. Tried to make some sense out of the sounds she could managed. Draco didn't understand any of it.

Draco pushed, hard, driving Hermione's face all the way to the hard wood floor. There was a heavy thunk, but the moans continued. What he assumed were requests to come kept falling from Hermione's entwined lips. He kept pushing. Harder. Harder. He could feel the rocket in her head, waiting to explode, and his matched hers.

"You may come," Draco said. It didn't take a second for the command to sink into Hermione. Her body began to buck. Back arching. Toes curling. Tears of unadulterated joy streaming down her face. She gave one final shudder, and collapsed beneath Draco.

Draco smiled and kept going. He felt her final shuddering twitches around his length and let himself explode. Pleasure in it's purest form washed through him. He found he couldn't keep his balance on his knees anymore, and crumpled to the floor beside Hermione.

He took one hand, and brushed one of her bangs to the side. He looked into her eyes, and saw satisfaction.

"Has Ron ever given that to you?"

Hermione shook her head no, and Draco couldn't help but smile. He untied the gag, and pulled it away from Hermione. Her breaths were still ragged, still ripped from the throws of passion.

"Ron's never come that close," Hermione said in fits and starts. "My god he's never been that close at all."

"It's a good thing you know where to come…when you need to come." Draco sniggered at his put as he slipped the filled condom off and eliminated it with his wand. He pointed the wand at Hermione's bonds, and they fell to the floor, before glowing a bright gold and vanishing.

Hermione stretched, arching her back, and spreading both arms out to either side. The twinges and tingles of sleep had to be rushing up and down her forearms. It had been almost an hour since those bonds were put in place. Draco was surprised they didn't have to do anything special to return the blood flow. Hermione blinked twice, and yawned.

"You're tired," Draco said. "You should stay the night in my bed."

Draco pointed to the old bed, a king sized affair by modern standards, with nineteenth century wizardry design posts.

Hermione looked at the bed, then back at Draco. "I really need to get back tonight. I don't want Ron to worry."

Draco sighed.

"When is it that we won't have that problem standing before us?" Draco shook his head, and stood up. He grabbed his wand and called a red sweatshirt to him and a pair of grey slacks. "When is it, Hermione, that we won't have to stand in the dark? I tire of it."

Hermione sighed. "I don't want to break his heart."

Draco made a dismissive noise and started for the door to his study. He stopped and looked back. "At least take a nap. I don't want you riding a damn portkey back half asleep."

Hermione nodded, and after pulling on her grub clothes, climbed into the bed.

Draco watched it, made another dismissive noise, and walked out of the room and into his study. He picked his wand up, and pointed it at the old style phonograph he kept in the corner. He had business to attend too.

:***:

"We found the remains," The voice was distant and dreamy, far away from where she lay, but Hermione couldn't push them away. They seemed to haunt her. They meant something important, but she couldn't put two and two together.

So, she let herself rise, waking in an unfamiliar bed, and one she identified only a moment later. It was Draco's bed. The woodwork of the post and the head board told a simple story, and Hermione followed it with ease.

The story, told of an aging wizard who feared death, he wanted to become immortal, but refused, outright, the idea of creating horcruxes. Instead he sought out a wand maker. The maker made a wand that could drain the life force of the most powerful magical creatures. The aging wizard swore never to use the wand on another wizard, but hunted down dragons, giants, anything with a modicum of magical energies. But, still the wizard fell. He was stabbed, shot, poisoned, and drowned, then his remains were burnt and scattered to prevent the wizard from ever coming back. It didn't say what happened to the wand.

"Good," Draco said. "How are the preparations for the spell going?"

Hermione crawled out of bed, and crept closer to the door, closer to where Draco's study was located. The door was ajar, just a little, just enough to let the voices come through. Fear filled her. A part of her anyway. How much horror did a door standing ajar contain?

But, Draco was beyond that door. There's nothing to be afraid of, except for the possibility of him finding her. She still had bruises from the last punishment she received, bruises that had been hard to explain to Ron.

"We're still gathering the proper materials," the distant voice said. Now that she could hear it properly, the voice sounded like it was being played off a record. "And, the alchemical circle is a difficult one to master."

"That's why I sent Edward," Draco said. His voice was rough and irritated. Peaking through the door, Hermione could see him standing hunched over a small table in the corner. His knuckles were white as he gripped the edges, and his hair was mussed. Hermione couldn't see his face.

"He's supposed to be an alchemical master, second only to Nicolas Flamel."

"he says he's never done one quite like this, sir," the scratchy voice replied.

Draco sighed, a deep one for someone his age. "Alright," Draco said. "When he get's it completed make sure he's _paid well_."

"Yes, sir," There was a half snigger from the man with the scratchy voice. Draco straightened up, backed away from the table, and pointed his wand at it. A soft blue glow fled from the phonograph and back into the wand. Draco started to turn around.

Hermione decided it was time to get back in bed. She ran, but made sure not to make any sound. Anything might give her eavesdropping away, and she didn't want the punishment for that. She didn't want to feel fear ever again. Not around Draco. He was supposed to be safe now.

She had a lot to think about.

The door creaked open a little further, and Draco stood in the doorway. She felt his eyes on her. He was just watching her sleep.


	2. Dinner and Dessert

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I would not be writing this. In fact, I wouldn't be writing at all. I'd be taking a nap on my private island.

Chapter 2: Dinner and Dessert

Hermione walked in the door at exactly ten past seven. Ron noted the time on the ancient grandfather clock they had sitting in the corner of the living room. The three of them, including baby Archer, lived in a rather modern apartment building in uptown London. The space they had, from the outside, was small, but inside it was easily twice the size of the house Ron grew up in. rent for the space was paid in muggle money, using the convenient, but expensive, income exchange at Gringotts. That had little to do with Hermione coming in late, though, and Ron gave an inward groan as to what that could mean.

Her shift at the Ministry of Magic was a regular nine-to-five job, unless something important was going on, like a special case involving pure bloods and half-breeds. Hermione, almost single handed, had eliminated nearly all laws in that particular field. But, still, Hermione had left this morning around seven am, as usual, and didn't' come home till more than twelve hours later. Which was becoming a disturbing habit as well. And, when Ron made a wand call to her office…well, he got the wizarding world equivalent of an answering machine.

Something was up, was all Ron could figure. Being a hair to naïve, he believed it was something work related.

"Hey sweetie," he said looking up at her as she came through the door. Hermione smiled, and the great grey bruise on her face turned that smile into a grimace.

"What happened?" Ron said, jerking up from his easy chair.

"Huh," Hermione said, her face and mind blank for moment. Ron's gaze led her to the question though. She raised a hand to her face and felt the bruise. "Oh, I tripped and fell at work today. Slipped going down the stairs, and smacked my face on the floor pretty hard."

Ron nodded. It didn't sit well with him. "Sounds like something that Bella Swan would do from those Twilight books. God, Ginny won't stop going on about them. But, I've never known you to be clumsy."

Hermione shrugged. "Accidents happen. What do you want for dinner?"

To Hermione the conversation was over. Ron pursed his lips, felt a little twisting in his stomach. It wasn't hunger. Something was wrong. Something was bad wrong.

"Here," he said, shaking his head, and dark thoughts away. He pulled out his wand and pointed it straight at Hermione. The thought to cast a truth spell on her and demand answers crossed his mind, but he whispered a single word and the bruise faded away.

"Thank you," Hermione said, smiling. It brightened his thoughts and mood and brought a smile to his face. "What'd you want for dinner?"

Ron shrugged. "Fish and chips."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to the kitchen. "We had that for dinner last night."

"What's wrong with that?" Ron asked.

:***:

Dinner went by with the same old pace. There was laughter at the table as Baby Archer made snot bubbles and Hermione pretended to be grossed out by them. Ron, just as bad at it as he was in school, told a few jokes he'd heard at the "office". Then regaled them with a take of how he took a werewolf down single handedly. At least until Hermione reminded him there were four other aurors tracking the wild beast. That was dinner for the Weasley's.

Typical.

Safe.

Steady.

No excitement whatsoever.

Except for the brand new black cloud building between Ron and Hermione.

They could both feel it. To Ron it was ambiguous, unfounded. To Hermione it was very real, and very far beyond her control. Was it divorce? Did she still love him? Why did he suck in bed?

:***:

Ron pulled away from Hermione, her lips, glistening in the dim lights, were still half parted and her pupils were dilated as she looked up at him.

"I love you," Ron said.

"I love you too," Hermione said. She wasn't sure she felt it, but didn't have time to pursue the thought. Ron bent back down to her, kissing her again. She felt the pressure of his lips, the firm lines of his teeth, and the insistence of his tongue. There was no passion to it, no excitement, at least not for her. She could feel Ron's passion hardening against her leg. It wasn't half the size of Draco's.

Ron's hand worked up under her shirt, sliding over her stomach. That touch had once raised goose bumps all across her skin, but now did nothing. Hermione merely began to play her role. At this point she was a very good actress.

He found her breast, cupped his hand over it, and she arched her back up into his grasp, adding the proper moan as he tweaked her nipple.

His other hand wrapped around her back and slid down into her pants. He found her lips, spread them a bit, and slid his finger up to her clit. Hermione groaned.

And, the play went on, through foreplay where she went down on him, and he fingered her from behind. And, onto the main course where he laid on her and thrust back and forth in a steady comfortable rhythm.

There was no passion.

Hermione thought of Draco. She thought about the smooth lines of his cut chest, the scars Harry's sectumsempra left, and the definition of his six-pack. She began to get wet, easing Ron's passage in and out of her.

Hermione thought about Draco's "gracious plenty." His member which filled her and stretched her core to its very limits. She thought of that, attaching it to Ron, and she felt the passion rise inside her, the desire spring from her core. She wrapped her legs up around Ron's back and pulled, moving him faster and faster. Hermione wanted to scream, she wanted to yell out obscenities that would have driven Draco on and on, but Ron… They were a turn off for Ron. She bit her lip instead.

Her passion continued to build.

But.

Ron had no endurance.

Within the third minute of their coupling Ron orgasmed, his body twitching and spasming as he fired off deep inside her. Hermione wasn't even close, but she bucked against Ron, moaning, groaning, arching her back, and acting as if she'd just had her orgasm. Finally, she ended the charade, and slumped down onto the mattress, exhausted. Ron collapsed too, rolling as he did and disengaging with a wet squishing sound. Hermione could feel his discharge running down her leg.

"How was that?" Ron asked with a wide dopey grin on his face.

"Great!" Hermione said without a moment's hesitation. She even managed a wide smile, though the need inside of her burnt like a blacksmith's forge. Ron couldn't satisfy it, had never been able to satisfy it, and the lie came naturally to Hermione's lips. And, just like every other time, she felt like she died a little inside.

Ron continued to smile. He bent over and kissed her, a light peck, then rolled over onto his side. Ron had no endurance and was sawing logs before a minute had passed.

Hermione stared up at the ceiling, feeling the desire gnawing at her, and thinking about Draco. About how he would meet her needs and about how bad she wanted it. She looked over at Ron, and a frown spread across her face. The cloud between them grew just a little bit darker. She sighed and climbed out of bed.

If Ron asked, and considering the noise level he wouldn't, Hermione would tell him she was working on her book. But, there was this old phonograph in her study. One a lot like Draco's, and Hermione decided it was time to put it to work.

Author's note: Sorry about the length of time it took to put this up. I'm trying to find a way to be able to get a chapter up at least once a week, preferably on Friday or Saturday. But, with my chaotic work schedule it's hard to find time to work on this and my original work. Hopefully we'll get something lined out.


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